Sydney Eye

Sinuous, Kent Street, The Haymarket

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

This is my contribution to the Weekend in Black and White community.

A reflection - Mind Tricks

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Random woman looking out to sea on the rocks near the Bogey Hole, South Bondi

The mind does play tricks, I concede.

My grandmother moved to Blair Street, North Bondi, in August 1956, six weeks after her youngest son died in London, and the same month as my father upped-stumps and moved his protesting family onto a farm out the back of nowhere. We stayed with her for holidays every summer for well-nigh ten years after our diaspora.

Aye, I remember it well – and fondly.

The walk down past the ‘stink pipe’ to the terminus where ancient green and gold trams spewed forth their loud day-trippers. Hopping gingerly along the uneven expanse of hot concrete, down past the pavilion, until reaching the cool of the slowly withering Norfolk pines along Campbell Parade, being killed by the southerly busters, laden with salt.

Running back along the hard, wet sand from the Bogey Hole to the mermaids below Ben Buckler - mermaids that were ‘stolen’ regularly. Getting Grandpa’s prescriptions filled by the chemist, Mr Roper, and the interminable wait for the Kodak 400 ASA film to be developed.

The mind is selective, and does not ‘do’ perspective. My grandmother had a cabinet television in her dingy lounge-room where there was ample latitude to watch Fred and Ginger in a ‘bigger than Ben Hur’ spectacular crafted all the way back in 1938, before the beginning of time, even. How could she fawn over films that were so old and dated?

Yet, I travel in the blink of an eye back to the summer of 1963.

Dad and I on top of the brand spanking new AMP building in CQ, December 1963

I have researched the term 'bogey hole' and there is information in a comment.

This is my contribution to the Weekend Reflections community.

Watching the Bondi sky at dusk

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Bondi Beach reminds me of a bite taken out of a piece of toast. Over the other end, the northern end, the area is known as Ben Buckler.

Over this end, the southern end, the area used to be known as 'the bogey hole'. Now it is just called 'Icebergs'.

This is my contribution to the Skywatch community.

A sign of affirmation!

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Quite keen to get their contact details across, thought I. So they must be on the lookout for new members, if not of the swim club, then of the drink club!

The Bondi Icebergs Club commenced in 1929. They pride themselves on being a 'winter' swimming club. When my grandmother moved to Bondi in 1956, this end of the beach was referred to as 'the bogey hole'. The club was there, but not as dominant as it has become of late. Their junior swim club is the Bondi Icecubes. That is the Pacific Ocean we are gazing out upon!

This is my contribution to the Signs Signs community.

Fluffy water

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

A most enjoyable shoot over the weekend on the rocks down beside the 'Icebergs Club' at South Bondi, at the very beginning of the Bondi-Bronte Coastal Walk. The aim was to shoot at dusk on Tv, Low ISO with a shutter speed of half a second thereby achieving what is technically known as 'fluffy water'.

Taphophile Tragics # 5 - Memorial sans body

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

There is no need to watch where you step at this particular grave site, as there is no body six feet below. Neilsen's body was never found!

Her disappearance, and presumed death, was a cause-celebre in Sydney. Beautiful heiress, publishing a community-based newspaper, disappears in the middle of redevelopment argy-bargy, and labour union 'green bans'. She was last seen alive on 4th July 1975, and the coroner's verdict in 1983 determined her to have been kidnapped and murdered. Her handbag and some personal effects were found strewn along a motor-way in the west of Sydney a few days after her disappearance. But no progress was ever made in bringing her assailants to justice. Police corruption is widely suspected.

This simple white marker is within the Foy Family plot in South Head General Cemetery, Sydney.

Juanita Joan Nielsen (22nd April 1937 – 4th July 1975) aged 38

She was born Juanita Joan Smith in New Lambton, NSW, a suburb of Newcastle. Her parents separated soon after her birth and she was raised by her mother in Killara, a wealthy suburb of Sydney.

Her father, Neil Donovan Smith was an heir to the Mark Foys retail fortune via his parents, James Smith (1862-1921) and his wife, Kathleen Sophie Foy (1870-1919), who was a sister of Mark & Francis Foy.

Juanita was educated at Ravenswood School for Girls, on the upper north shore of Sydney. She worked at Mark Foy's (the family retail empire) from 1953 until she travelled overseas in 1959. In 1962, she married a Dutch seaman named Jorgen Fritz Nielsen in Kobe, Japan, the marriage lasting only a few years. Juanita returned to Sydney in 1965, working at Mark Foys' for another 5 years. In the early 1970s, Nielsen was the publisher of NOW, an alternative newspaper in the Sydney suburb of Kings Cross, which we all presume was her undoing.

This post is my contribution to the Taphophile Tragics community.

Monday Mural - Harrington Street

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

The Rocks is a suburb of Sydney settled within weeks of the arrival of The First Fleet. It was named from the high sandstone escarpment that ran along the 'spine' of the western shore of Sydney Cove. Building was tough and rough, and therefore, the suburb was populated by the convicts, thieves and whores who were part of our first settlement. The soldiers and administrators lived along the eastern and southern shore of the cove.

In the late 1920s the geography of The Rocks was decimated (north-south) by bull-dozing required to swathe the approach to the Sydney Harbour Bridge. In the mid 1950s The Rocks was once again sliced (east-west this time) by the construction of the Cahill Expressway extending the railway to the east of the city, and increasing the flow of vehicular traffic onto the bridge.

These murals are on stanchions of the Cahill Expressway as it crosses Harrington Street. They show scenes of The Rocks in its hey-day, prior to the general widening of roads and attempted gentrification of the area at the very beginning of the 20th century.

View Larger Map

This is my contribution to the Monday Mural community.

Geometry within a city

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

This is my contribution to the Weekend in Black and White community.

A reflection

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

When You Are Old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face among a crowd of stars.

William Butler Yeats

This is my contribution to the Weekend Reflections community.

Skywatch - Bench with a View

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

South Head is a peninsula. Along one side, we face east and look out to the Pacific Ocean (upper photo). Along the other side, we face west and look up Port Jackson, Sydney Harbour (lower photo).

Come sit with me a while.

This is my contribution to the Skywatch Community.

Is freedom ying or yang?

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Ying Yang posits that there are two complementary forces surrounding us. Both are necessary, and too much of either is bad.

In Yang lies the seed of Ying, and in Ying lies the seed of Yang. Ying and Yang are cyclical. Yang grows but at its height Ying emerges. Ying grows, and at its height Yang appears.

Ying is soft, where Yang is hard.
Ying is still, where Yang moves.
The moon is Ying, where the sun is Yang.
Intuition is Ying, where logic is Yang.

Freedom is Ying, where restriction is Yang.

This fence is on the very edge of the South Head entrance to Sydney Harbour. You can see North Head in the backgroud. In the lower photograph, you can see the location of the detailed shot, in the extreme left top of the image.

This post is part of the Friday Fences community.

Ker-ching becomes ker-plunk

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Economies all over the world are doing crazy things, or having crazy things done to them. Debt levels in Europe are sky-high. Unemployment in the USA is rising. Productivity is faltering everywhere. Australia is not immune to the rising tide of disquiet.

This can be seen in my own local 'high street'. I live in Paddington, in Sydney's eastern suburbs, which are considered well-heeled. Our main shopping street is one of those old-fashioned ribbon-developments which seem to stretch on for miles. Populated by small often one-off boutiques, what economists love to call SMEs (small to medium enterprises).

Some shops seem to be prospering, whilst others go to the wall. Look at the number of 'for-sale' and 'for-lease' signs in these last three photographs, all taken during the last six months, indeed the large one taken last week. And this in an economy where our public debt is low, when compared with Greece, the UK, France, and the USA.

Shoppers are spending on essentials, and paying down debt instead of splashing out. What discretionary spending there is, is now occurring at the local mall, which is big and modern and trashy, stocking cheaper items. When we all change our spending pattern at the same time, there is not enough people buying to keep the economic cycle chugging along.

This post is part of the Signs Signs community.

Taphophile Tragics # 4 - Botany's Pioneer Park

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

A well-worn epitaph for the deceased is 'Rest in Peace' (Requiescat in pace). However, in the first century of this city, we denied the dead a restful peace. We were a gaol, a convict colony. We did not treat our dead venerably, and we had no expectation that the colony would thrive. So we plonked our boot-hill in the middle of the town. Not once, but twice. To paraphrase Oscar Wilde, to mislocate one burial ground may be regarded as a misfortune; to mislocate two smells distinctly like a lack of vision.

Many of the original inhabitants of the city (and, by definition, the nation) were not left to rest peacefully, but were moved around willy-nilly. It beggars belief that mortal remains were kept intact, were relocated with correct head and foot stones. In total 2,285 plots were relocated from where they were originally interred. Here at Pioneer Park in Botany Cemetery (originally Bunnerong Cemetery) just 746 gravestones have been preserved. No mention of the remains. The rest of the stones were worn away by weather and neglect. Although the park lacks a graveyard authenticity (no need to worry about where one treads here), it is a very moving experience to walk up the rise through Botany Cemetery into this distinctly different area of commemoration.

The first official burying ground for Sydney was in the area now occupied by the Town Hall and St Andrews (Anglican) Cathedral. However, this was not cared for and became full and foul by 1819. So most (but not all, as we gloriously discovered just a few short years ago when digging up the basement of the Town Hall) of the bodies and headstones were moved down to the Devonshire Street (Sandhills) Burial Ground.

However, in 1901 it was determined that the main railway station of Sydney was to be erected on this self-same site. So, all the bodies were, once again, exhumed and relocated. However, this time, they had to be relocated where space (and descendants) permitted. Some remains were devolved to Rookwood Cemetery to the West, some to Gore Hill Cemetery to the North, some to both South Head and Waverley Cemeteries to the East, and still others to Bunnerong Cemetery to the South. Scattered to the four winds, if you will ...

View Cemeteries in Sydney in a larger map

Looking forward, looking back

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Sun, 15 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Oxford Street Paddington with two minutes between shots: the upper shot at 7:27pm; the lower shot at 7:25pm.

This is primarily a retail precinct, and retail is doing it tough at the moment. People are still spending, but not on 'things' mainly on 'experiences'. This strip is heavily reliant on up-market fashion and shoe shops, with a sprinkling of household accessory outlets. On Wednesday, I will show you just how bad they are hurting.

The upper shot is dominated by the renovated 'Imperial Hotel'. The lower shot is dominated by the Paddington Inn. Both are very nicely appointed, with exceptional diners. They are in the 'experience' category, so should be smiling.

Data for the upper shot: F5.6, S/S 1/1600, ISO 1000, Focal Length 105mm
Data for the lower shot: F5.6, S/S 1/500, ISO 1000, Focal Length 50mm

Swing low, sweet chariot

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

This is a contribution to the Weekend in Black and White.

Crawling 'round the harbour

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

There was a regularity to his arm movement: over, down, through, push. Keep the flutter kick going. And a random breath every so many strokes goes down a treat, too.

To the victor, the physical accomplishment; to the viewer, the mesmerised meditation upon life. People watching is balm for the soul.

This is a Weekend Reflections contributiom.

What happened to Sydney's blue skies?

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

We waited out the drizzle, but last Sunday morning never did amount to all that much, weatherwise. However, I did enjoy the visit to Camp Cove with my girls. The photograph, taken by Kirsten, shows us in our 'hatties'. I only have the one summer hat. However, Alannah likes to colour-coordinate her hatties.

This is my contribution to the Skywatch Community.

Ruiz vs Picasso - Would Pablo still rock?

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Having been critical and disappointed by my first pass through the event that is Picasso, I took myself for a second appreciative meander this past weekend. The gallery was open as a venue for the Sydney Festival First Night, and this seemed a perfect venue for a less hectic (read noisy) Involvement. However, as they say, the house was packed to the rafters.

At the bewitching hour of 3pm, I bowled in and wandered through the ten rooms in a plan of my whim, sans headphones, sans cattledog. Well, yes, I enjoyed it more the second time - but I was FAMILIAR with the works then, wasn't I. Familiar with the order, with the breadth. The really good aspect, that comes through so very strongly, is how Picasso developed from a faithful representative drawer, to the pin-up boy of modern art.

So, I get myself a third ticket and see it again before it goes off to Canada.

And the subtitle? Ruiz is the surname of Pablo's father, while Picasso is the surname of Pablo's mother. Spanish tradition allows the child to take the surname of either, so I gather.

This is my contribution to Lesley's Signs, Signs meme.

Now THIS l like

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Sure beats staying at home, lolling on the sofa, watching the nth repeat of 'The Flintstones', or splayed between bed and wall thumbs working over-time on 'Soldier Front', in a virtual world of zombied-friends.

Taphophile Tragics #3 - Saying it with flowers

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Top: Ceramic flowers, Botany Cemetery, Sydney)
Left: Living flowers, Montmatre Cemetery, Paris; Right: Silk flowers, Wauchope Cemetery, NSW

A bare, unadorned and seemingly unloved cemetery tended only by council employees, must only add to the initial devastation of losing a loved one.

But, it does not have to be like this. Cemeteries can be places of love, joy, and celebrated remembrance. This is often symbolised by the colour, and shape, and variety of floral tributes.

All the ceramic flowers in this post are from Botany Cemetery in Sydney, aka Eastern Suburbs Memorial Cemetery

Botany Cemetery is a riot of colour, as I have shown you before. Although this is a culturally mandated attention to the departed, cut flowers are not the only way. Plastic flowers convey tackiness, whilst silken flowers convey an air of the elegantly frowsy. Yet one could choose a fine line in ceramic numbers: no wilt, not frowsy; a reliable, elegant, minimalist arrangement.

But then, we could also choose living flowers. They are overlooked in Australia, which has a, dare-I-say, off-hand regard for the departed. Parisian cemeteries exhibit no such qualms. Over there sometimes the plantings at the foot of the grave are annuals like pansies or phlox. But mostly they are perennials like roses and azaleas. Plantings that sit by the right hand of the departed. Plantings that succor from the very grave surround.

These, for me, are places of love and joy, and celebrated remembrance.

Left: Wild flowers, Gore Hill Cemetery, Sydney; Right: Unadorned graves, Randwick Cemetery, Sydney
Bottom: Ceramic flowers, Botany Cemetery, Sydney

A contribution to the Taphophile Tragics community.

Sundee Tele - To sit on or to read

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Delving back into the darkest recesses of my mind, this image reminded me of attending a rugby league match at the Sydney Cricket Ground (SCG), probably that infamous ANZAC Day massacre game of 1978 where the St George Dragons slaughtered the Eastern Suburbs Roosers. It had rained a lot, the ground was a quagmire, as were the rough-hewn bleachers. An enterprising paper boy, desperate for sales, was threading his way through the crowd hollerin': "Sundee Tele, Sundee Tele. To sit on, or to read'.

This woman is kickin' back on the sands of Camp Cove, reading The Sun Herald. Although it rained a bit later, and she probably had to nip down to the kiosk to buy The Sunday Telegraph.

B&W - The plaintive echo of the erhu

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Sat, 07 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

This is a contribution to the Weekend in Black and White.

Weekend Reflections - Jostling for supremacy

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

On George Street, a block down from the town hall, the old and the new jostle for supremacy. The new is represented by the concrete, glass and aluminium of the Hilton Hotel (c. 1970). The old is represented by the sandstone, glass and copper of the Queen Victoria Building (c. 1898).

You realise, of course, that those dates are meaningless as both buildings have had extensive make-overs through the years, both inside and out. The QVB maintains its original appearance more so than does the Hilton. However, inside the Hilton is the 1893 Marble Bar, which, although maintaining its 'scaffolding' has also had a nip here, and a tuck there.

That is what cities do: they metamorphose to meet the needs of commerce.

This is a Weekend Reflections contributiom.

Skywatch - Geography maketh the man

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

We are an open, welcoming, friendly bunch, we who live in this city by the sea. And how would we be otherwise, with scenes like this at our doorstep. Not for us the continuous pall of grey mist, and early close to days which greet others. I wonder if we acknowledge it enough: our debt to this drowned valley.

Elizabeth Farrelly, writing in the SMH this morning argued:

A good harbour, like a good city, relies on connectivity. The water is great. In Sydney's case, the topography is also great. That's nature.

But what makes nature into a great harbour is culture. It's the transitional fringe, the incremental embroidery of wharfs, slipways, seawalls, steps, cafes, platforms, boathouses, chandleries, shipwrights, moorings and (if you really must) marinas that make a harbour. Sydney Harbour has a grand tradition of this stuff - working, industrial harbour furniture much of it, but also the canvas dinghies, packet boats, watermen's wherries, tugs and fishers and coal lighters and wild 18-footers and container ships.

Both photos are of Watson's Bay: looking from it to the city; looking down into, and across it.

This is my contribution to the Skywatch Community.

The French call this 'patrimoine'

noreply@blogger.com (Julie) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 13:00:00 +0000

I think 'patrimoine' is heritage: that which we inherit from our ancestprs, are custodians of for a while, and then hand it down to our descendents. Here in Sydney our patrimoine includes the bridge, the opera house, and the harbour.

Much of our harbour foreshore is either military land, or national park. However, there is a fair bit that is residential. Until recently, most of South Head was off limits. Some still is because there is a naval base there. North Head is part of a national park.

On New Year's Day, I walked around South Head. From Camp Cove, I joined up with the South Head Heritage Trail. A stunning walk, on a gorgeous day. The house here was the residence of the light-house keeper of the Hornby Light, erected after the 'Dunbar' shipwreck in 1857. There are a number of old fortifications from our need to defend ourselves from marauders way down here at the arse-end of the world: the French, and the Russians primarily. The view from North Head is even more stunning, in my opinion.